Hem Raj Bastola
Temblor
Split wall,
A thought in debris,
Friction to friction
Dead wood was a beam.
Tiller of a house now,
Stands an obelisk:
Of a historic
Buildings.
A dream
From debris
Drawing a map
To stand again, but
Raised again a building
A lacking presence
Is the plight of:
Our pride.
When,
I try to be frugal
To explain about
The fate of a heritage
And mute curse of history
Is still asking
The attention of
The concerned
Ears.
